John's Turn
by HobbitatHogwarts
Summary: John is tired of fighting. So it's his turn for a fall. Only one person can save him. But Sherlock Holmes is dead, isn't he? Post Reichenbach.
1. My Blogger

**Bonjour. So yeah, I do realize that this is like my third or fourth post Reichenbach fic. I'm really sorry but at the same time I'm not! I keep getting ideas and like Sherlock said in Reichenbach: you can't delete and idea once it's taken a place in your mind. I'm kind of apprehensive about this one because I've never really written an angsty fanfic. Like I have stories where people die and they have emotional turmoil and stuff but never before have I written one where someone attempts suicide (Sherlock's does not count). So yeah, I hope this is ok. The song that kind of inspired me was Skinny Love by Birdy (covered from Bon Iver). I strongly suggest that you listen, because it's a beautiful song. Anyway, I'm done my ranting, just read the fic and if you want, tell me what you think. **

**Je ne possède pas Sherlock. (oooh French, what now?!)**

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John fell.

He was done. He didn't want to fight anymore. He couldn't fight anymore. He was just too tired. He wanted to fall into an endless sleep. And what a more fitting way then the same way his flatmate had gone.

Almost a year had passed since his best friend had died. An entire effing year. John didn't know how he had managed to exist. But he did just that; exist. He went about life, getting up in the morning, eating three meals a day, and going to bed. But he was a soulless robot, incapable of anymore then that.

Every day was a greyish blurr. Each second felt like an hour and every hour felt like a second. Every step that he took was a reminder of his pain. Every breath stung like a thousand knives. Because Sherlock wasn't there to breathe alongside him.

Night was his only solace, but even there, John was bombarded with images of the fall. The fall that took everything from him. In his dreams, it was so clear and sharp, like he was looking up at the roof once again. He would always stand there and watch Sherlock fall. He would wake up with a start right before Sherlock hit the pavement, and succumb to sobs. It was torture, worse than his dreams after the war.

So John had decided that he was done. He didn't even remember how he had found himself on the roof of Bart's hospital. But he wasn't complaining. There couldn't be a more perfect place. He had walked up to the ledge and looked down at the street.

Even though he knew it, the realization hit him like a lightning bolt. Sherlock had been standing exactly here, a year ago. Sherlock had died here, while John watched from the streets below. John felt the pain tear through him. Tears began to fall from his face and he did nothing to stop them. They would stop soon enough. And then in his last moments, he mumbled one word.

- "Sherlock."

And then he fell.

Or at least meant to. Just as he began to lean forward, strong arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him away from the ledge, as quickly as humanly possible. John thought at first that maybe it was an angel. But then the weight of the combined bodies, caused John and his saviour to topple to the roof floor. John heard a deep grunt that was clearly a man's. However he made no move to see who it was. He was doubled over, sobs wracking his entire body. The unknown man hesitated but then took John into his arms. For some reason, John let him. He was passed the point of caring. They remained like that for a couple minutes while John attempted to regain his voice.

- "Who are you? Why did you stop me?" he finally choked through sobs.

The man's mouth came close to John's ear and an unmistakable voice whispered into it.

- "I couldn't let you, John. I'd be lost without my blogger."


	2. I Buried You

**I've never written more because reviewers wanted me too so let's see how this goes. I'm turning this into an approx. four chapter fic. This one's shorter but... oh well. I have the third chapter already engraved into my mind so accept an update today. Anyways, here it is, enjoy. **

**I do notz ownz ze Sherlock.**

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John woke up on his sitting room couch, his head pounding. His eyes remained sealed but he could tell that he was in the flat. The hum of the fridge and the material of the couch were as familiar to him as the dark burning intensity of Sherlock Holmes eyes.

Sherlock.

The events of earlier that day flooded his mind. He sat up, his eyes snapping open. The hospital... the ledge... falling... Sher-

But it was impossible. His flatmate was dead. He had seen him fall, felt his pulse. He had been there when they had buried him; he had even helped. Sherlock Holmes was dead and that was that.

A dream. That was what it was. It was the only plausible explanation. But it had been so vivid, so clear. John could still feel the concrete of the gravel digging into his skin.

A shuffling sound near John, brought him back to the present. He turned his head towards the sound, and what he saw almost made him faint.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, hands folded together in his usual manner, staring down at John. When he saw that John was awake, he exhaled a loud sigh of relief.

- "John." he said softly. "You fainted, if you were wondering." Sherlock looked at John waiting for a response. And he got one all right. John got up from the couch ran towards Sherlock and punched him in the face. Sherlock regained his composure immediately, as if nothing had happened. He had obviously been expecting it. "John, let me explain."

- "Explain what Sherlock? How you abandoned me? How you made me think you were dead." screamed John, rage filling him "Do you realize how much pain this has put me through? I've spent an entire year, in constant physical and emotional pain while you just watched from a distance. I buried you Sherlock! I turned into a robot, living, only because i knew that that was what you would have wanted. And I almost committed suicide over you!" Sherlock made to say something but John cut him off. "I don't care what you have to say! I don't care that you're still alive. Don't expect any of my forgiveness because after what you did, you're lucky I don't kill you myself. There is no way you're returning into my life Sherlock. You already wrote yourself out of it." he grabbed his coat and walked towards the door. "I'm going out and when I return, you better not be here." And with that, John left the room, leaving a tear streaked Sherlock behind him.


	3. Because

**At first, I was not sure about this being a chapter fic, but now I am totally hooked! OMG I'm reading them and just grinning so broadly. And that is so unusual for me because I usually start to hate my fanfictions by the time I post them. Thank you reviewers for insisting that I do this! It's getting a bit JohnLocky, so if you don't like that stuff then shoo. Anyway, ignore my rants and just read! I'll probably finish the story tonight or in twenty minutes, it depends how my mind palace is working. **

**I dooooooooooooo nooooottttttt owwwwwnnnnnn Shhhheeerrrrllllooooccckkkk!**

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John walked around for two straight hours. He had no idea where he was going. His entire mind was focused on what had just happened, while a sliver, made sure he placed his left foot in front of his right and vice versa. At the end of the two hours, John was beginning to regret his actions.

He had been begging for a year for Sherlock to return, and now he had, and he had sent him away. He suddenly felt terrible about his outburst. But at the same time, he had the right. Sherlock had lied to him, had put him through that terrible pain and it was unforgivable. But, John hadn't given him a chance to explain himself...

His train of thought went on for five minutes until he came to his conclusion. He had to give Sherlock a chance to explain himself. He had saved John's life, so John owed him at least that. He looked around to see where he was and found that he was outside Scotland Yard. He had no idea how he had gotten that far but didn't give it much thought, and hailed a cab.

He climbed into the back seat, his mind still clouded. How did Sherlock survive? It seemed impossible. John had been there, he had seen it happen. It was complete idiocy to think that Sherlock could have lived through a fall like that. But then again, he was Sherlock and he did have his secrets.

John then began to wonder if anybody else had known. Of course they did, or how else could Sherlock have pulled the stunt? He racked his mind for someone who could have helped, but then blended in like the death pained them as well. And then it hit him. Molly. Of course. He was no Sherlock Holmes but he could deduce this fact, simply enough. She was the only one who would have been at the hospital before Sherlock's death. She was the only one who knew enough about dead bodies to do it. And then, she could have blended in perfectly, locking herself in her room, pretending that the death pained her. How clever.

The cab stopped and John climbed out, paying the driver. He wrenched open the door of the flat and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He walked into the sitting room, Sherlock's name on his lips. But he wasn't there. The flat hung in an eerie silence, so familiar to John after Sherlock had (fake) died. John quickly scanned the room, looking for something that was out of place, something that would lead him to the consultant detective. He finally spotted it; a stack of yellow sticky notes sitting on the desk. He strode forward to peer at them. Sherlock had written a series of notes in his long cursive handwriting. As John read them, his mouth turned into a frown. As he reached, the last one, however, his mouth hung open in complete shock. He flung the notes on the desk, and ran out the door, after Sherlock.

I'm so sorry. - SH

I know that what I did cannot easily be forgiven. - SH

It pained me to see you hurt, because of me. - SH

It nearly drove me insane. - SH

I watched you once, when you came to my tombstone. -SH

When you begged me to be alive, I wanted to rush forward and take you in my arms and tell you that it would be okay. - SH

But I couldn't. - SH

Everything that I did, - SH

It was for your safety. - SH

And you had to bury me. - SH

Because if not, I would have had to bury you. - SH

And I couldn't let that happen. - SH

Because I love you. - SH


	4. How To Proceed

**I am so sorry for not posting this yesterday! My mom wanted to watch Sherlock, and I couldn't turn down an offer like that. And then this morning, my parents made me go outdoors... So anyway, I've changed my mind. THIS IS NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER. There will be two more. Anyways just read and enjoy. I plan on writing the next chapter right away. **

**Sherlock is owned by BBC, not me, and if I was the BBC, I would be too busy screening the Olympics so...**

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The rain had begun to fall. John sat in his cab, looking out as the drops pattered against the window. He hoped dearly that the address he had given the cabbie was right, because he had a strange feeling that he had little time to find his friend. John sighed.

How was it possible? How could the brilliant Sherlock Holmes love him? Sherlock didn't love anyone. He was a self proclaimed sociopath. But that wasn't quite true. He had some sort of protective hold on John. The pool incident had shown him that much. And if Sherlock was telling the truth, and he had faked his death to save John, then that would be proof as well. But it was just an intense friendship. The idea that Sherlock loved him, had feeling for him, was absurd.

But even as John thought this, events indicating otherwise presented themselves. All those times that Sherlock had placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder or arm and had kept it there longer then necessary. Or all the times that he disapproved of John's girlfriends. But if Sherlock loved him, then there was a more serious problem. What was John going to do?

John knew he was in love with Sherlock. He had known since he had shot the cabbie for him and then Sherlock had taken him out for Chinese. The normal thing to do, after Sherlock's revelation would be to let him know of his feelings. But this situation was nowhere close to normal. There was nothing normal about being in love with your sociopathic flatmate who faked death. John knew that Sherlock was uncomfortable with relationships. So how did he proceed?

However, he couldn't think the problem through anymore because the cab had stopped in front of a row of townhouses. John told the driver to wait there and climbed out, into the rain. He ran to the door, that he hoped was the right one and rang the doorbell.

Molly Hooper opened the door and John breathed in a sigh of relief. But his relief quickly changed to horror as he saw her face. Her eyes were red, and tears were flowing down her face.

- "Molly, what-"

-"It's Sherlock!" she said cutting him off. "He came here and then ran off, saying something about Canada." John's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "He looked so determined about something." continued Molly. "In a terrifying way. He kept mumbling about a tower..." John turned white as a sheet. Molly was shaking. "I'm scared John. I think he might try to-" But John never heard the rest of her sentence. He rushed back to the cab and climbed in, pulling out his phone.

- "Hello Mycroft. Listen, I do believe you owe me a favour. For what? Oh you know, just sending your brother to his death, which I know you knew was fake, and not telling me. Oh I don't want anything big. I just need to borrow something. Your private jet would suffice."


	5. Again

**I'll explain why they're in Canada in the next chapter. I chose Vancity though cause that's my hometown and I love it (sends kisses to beautiful Vancouver). This isn't as dramatic as I thought it would be. I honestly considered killing one of them at one point but then I realized that was too cruel. Anyways read. I don't own Sherlock blah blah blah blah blah. Last chapter up in approx an hour.**

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When John's plane landed in Vancouver, BC, he was immediately escorted to a helicopter. John had filled Mycroft in on all that was going on, and Mycroft, being the British Government, had gotten everything that was necessary to find and save his brother.

John ran to the helicopter, launching himself into his seat. He was convinced that Sherlock would act as soon as he landed. The plan was to fly low over the city with binoculars and try to spot the detective standing on one of the buildings. It wasn't a very good plan, but it was all that they could do in the short time that they had. The helicopter took off and was quickly airborn.

They flew in the night sky, looking down at the light flooded city. John would have found it beautiful, if he hadn't been scared out of his wits for his flatmate. They looked around, their eyes peeled, for what seemed like forever. John could feel the time running out. He was beginning to lose all hope of ever seeing the man again.

And then a silhouette was standing on top of a skyscraper. John cried out and snatched a pair of binoculars to look closer. It was Sherlock all right, unmistakable with his billowing coat. The helicopter immediately dropped. They were nearing the building. But the helicopter couldn't stop. There was no place to land. John felt a sense of dread. The situation was all too familiar, and for a second, he couldn't move, as painful memories flashed before him. It hit him then like a boulder. If he didn't do anything, he would lose Sherlock again. He would lose the man he loved. So John in a sense of panic, judged the distance safe and before anyone could stop him, he jumped.

He hit the roof of the building with a thud, and attempted to somersault, like they had learned in the army. It sort of worked and he found himself on his back, an unbearable pain searing his already wounded shoulder, and his head pounding. He faintly heard shouts from the men in the helicopter, but ignored them. He got to his feet, cursing at the pain, but attempting to ignore it. Sherlock had turned to look at him, his eyes wide, looking slightly crazed. John approached him slowly.

- "Sherlock, it's okay. It's just me. I've come to take you back home." Sherlock moved closer to the ledge and John almost cried out but stopped himself. However he couldn't help from talking more urgently. "Home, in London, with Mrs. Hudson, and I. And we can solve crimes together." Sherlock looked at him like he didn't know him. It hurt John so much to see that face on him. "Sherlock it's me, John. John, your blogger, your best friend. The man that you claim to love." Sherlock made a jerky move, and John panicked, thinking that he was going to jump but he only took a step back and collapsed on the floor of the roof. John ran forward and took Sherlock into his arms. Sherlock whispered John's name over and over again as John held him tightly, afraid to let him go. "I love you Sherlock Holmes." he whispered into the dark hair, before Sherlock drifted into unconsciousness.


	6. My Detective

**Ok not sure what you guys will think, but this chapter makes up for the last one in my opinion. Last chapter! Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. The Sherlock fandom is honestly the nicest fandom in the world. I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapters and my rants and randomness. So just completely ignore the fact that a dork wrote this and read on! I don't own Sherlock.**

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The plane ride to London, was rather silent, considering the fact that Sherlock was unconscious for half of it. When he woke up, he looked around at his surroundings, took on the face that he always had when he was deducing something, then proceeded to stare out the window. He showed no sign that he knew that John was there, although the latter was confident that he did.

The cab ride was rather the same. John, however, kept stealing glances at Sherlock. He hadn't been able to take a good look at him since his return from the dead. His hair looked unkempt, and he had a light tan. There was also a different air to the detective, as if he hadn't cracked a joke in a long time, which John presumed was the case. But, he was still the same old, handsome Sherlock. And the years of practice that John had put in trying to hide the fact that he was attracted to his flatmate, slipped out the window.

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The pair sat, uncomfortably looking at each other, over a hot cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson had made them. John had suggested that they rest, for the day had been trying on both of them, but Sherlock had claimed he wasn't tired. So they settled for sitting in awkward silence, which was only broken to sip at their tea or shift their positions in their armchairs. John decided that it would have to be him who broke the silence.

- "So are we going to talk about this?" he asked.

- "Talk about what?" asked the detective, his gaze turning firmly to the window.

- "Talk about wha -" John asked bemused. "How about how we both tried to commit suicide over each other, how you returned from the dead, oh and how about the part where you claimed that you loved me." Sherlock cringed at the last part. He had obviously been trying to avoid that topic.

- "Fine, where should I begin." he said breathing a sigh and turning his head to look at John.

- "How about the day you faked your death?" John suggested and Sherlock nodded.

- "Moriarty and I had a confrontation on the rooftop, as you can deduce, I suspect, because you saw his body." John nodded. "He placed three snipers on Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you, which could only be called off if I jumped." John's eyes widened, as he had no idea that this had happened. "So I had to jump. Problem was, Moriarty thought I was stupid, and didn't think that I saw it coming. Molly helped me arrange everything; the fall, the doctors, the biker who pushed you over." John's eyes widened. "Don't act surprised, of course I planned that."

- "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?" asked John, still not understanding that part.

- "It was the only way to keep you safe. So I faked my death then went abroad for a bit. I visited France and Switzerland, where there were some wonderful murders for me to brood over. Then I returned to London for a bit, on Molly's request. It's thanks to her that you're alive actually. She saw you walk to the roof on her way to work. She quickly texted me and I was fast enough to save you. That was an accident. I wasn't suppose to see you for three years." John felt faint. Three years! That would have been absolute torture. "Then you know the rest." he said folding his hands together.

- "I still have some questions." said John and Sherlock groaned. "Why did you go to Canada?"

- "Henry Knight suggested it to me. Remember the bloke with the hound? He lived there before he returned to Dartmoor. Said it was a beautiful place. I thought it would be a fitting place to -"

- "Die." John finished for him. "But why? Why did you have to die?" Here Sherlock looked down uncomfortably, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Finally he spoke.

- "A world, where John Watson hates me and doesn't want me, is not a world worth living in." John looked at him startled as Sherlock avoided all eye contact with him. John saw tears forming in the corners of the detective's eyes and he ran forward to kneel in front of Sherlock. He placed his fingers under Sherlock's chin. And then he did something that he never thought he would do, something more frightening then invading Afghanistan.

He kissed Sherlock Holmes. At first Sherlock did nothing, and John was afraid he had done something wrong. But then there were hands in his hair and Sherlock was kissing him back. And it was amazing, and so worth all the crap that they had gone through.

- "Why did you come after me?" asked Sherlock softly when they had pulled back. "I thought you hated me for what I did."

- "I love you Sherlock. That's why." said John looking at him straight in the eyes. "And besides, I'd be lost without my detective."

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**Just a quick note: the fact that Henry lived in Canada is actually a reference to the novel The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just read it and it is so good! Anyways bye thanks for reading! **


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